Apodyopsis
by spiderwebbed
Summary: If she hadn't fallen, he wouldn't have caught her. If he hadn't caught her, her body would never have pressed against his. If her body hadn't pressed against his, then... well. [Apodyopsis is a word meaning 'the act of mentally undressing someone.']


_I'm sorry._

It wasn't even his fault that she'd almost fallen into him, and it certainly wasn't his fault that she'd needed to grip onto him for support to stay aloft after her momentary loss of balance. It especially wasn't his fault that he'd been able to feel the softness and heat emanating from her too-warm body as he caught her. He scratches distractedly as his forearm itches from the ghosted shape of lace, presumably from her bra.

He hadn't meant to think on it too much.

To be surprised at the feeling of a mere bra when he'd touched women in much closer and intimate quarters was an odd sensation... but the fact was that he'd never imagined Natalya to be the lacy bra type keeps the thought in his mind. It never occurred to him that she'd be the type to wear- something about her air has always been too hard, too frigid to wear something as delicate as lace, and yet there he is at his desk with his hand gripped a little too tightly around the forearm that Natalya's breasts had ghosted against. He can't even remember a time that he'd _ever_ thought about Natalya's hypothetical taste in bras, mainly because his mental conception of Natalya was a woman made of iron, but... now he was all _too_ aware that she was soft and living and... and hours later, the thought of her breasts had yet to leave his mind.

Of course, he'd been all too polite about the ordeal, even pretending that it was nothing as he let his arm drop and stepped away from her to put a reasonable amount of space between them. Natalya had thanked him flatly with barely a passing grimace, but it was hardly surprising.

The way she looked at him, but also looked through him.

The way her lips pressed together, then parted for a fleeting moment when she'd looked up at his mouth.

The way she'd almost smiled when she thanked him, but grimaced outwardly when she realized her initial inclination.

And he hadn't even realized he'd been paying attention so thoroughly. What a fool he'd been. His collar burning against the back of his neck, Kiku finds himself pulling and tugging at the buttons, scrambling to tear the too-hot military uniform off of his body. He felt suppressed, stifled as he comes to grips with his persistant thoughts.

Kiku has always proclaimed himself a puzzle-solving man. One who loved enigmas and cold spots and things in the natural world that felt unnatural- things like himself, the emotional personification of a nation that may've as though it should not exist, should not have wants and desires... and yet, he is thinking about the way the lace on her wrist brushes against the bottom of his thumb in a way that cannot be misinterpreted.

Kiku is... trapped- and not at all unpleasantly.

He _is_ a puzzle-solving man- and Natalya is the sort of puzzle that he wants to shift and sort and- if she would let him- _really_ sink his teeth into.

Why did the conference room have to be so hot today?

The sight of Natalya's ever tranquil blonde tresses rough and sweaty and pasted against the back of her neck above her collar is an imagery that haunts Kiku in a way that he can't quite explain. The way that even in her unkempt state with her reddened cheeks and forehead, she still looked at him across the table with cool eyes and a mild frown as if offended that he'd dared to lay his eyes on her.

Those breasts...

The ghost lace itches his arm once more.

What color...?

No.

He sets his mouth against the thought.

It is one thing to let the thought pass through his mind, but... to let it marinate and simmer and boil him thoroughly was another matter altogether. He was done with the whole matter, and nothing would change his mind.

Still...

In his mind, he could practically feel the silk of her neck ribbon between his index finger and thumb. A gentle tug would be all it took for it to come loose, then another to unravel it completely and lead it firmly to its fated journey the ground... Then, of course, he would have to do away with the buttons. Small, but easy enough if his fingers didn't shake. Kiku couldn't imagine a situation where he'd be close enough to her, where Natalya would allow him to disrobe her without his fingers trembling from excitement. Anticipation. Desire.

Would her skin flush under his eyes? Would she glare at him defiantly or be unable to meet his gaze? Would she tremble in such a circumstance, or stand frozen in place?

Turn over. He imagines her frowning and the way he would reach for her back zipper and tug it gently to her waist. So much of her skin would be exposed... he can practically sense the look she would give him over her shoulder- something warning and dangerous. Something vulnerable that makes him wonder why he'd never done it before. Another ribbon to slide away from around her waist and then his lips could take a much desired foray across freckled skin. Would she giggle? Would she blush? Would she moan?

Did she have freckles in the first place?

Oh... to be the one who could slide that dress to her ankles and take in the glorious form beneath. To carefully peel off pantyhose, slip off unlaced shoes and reveal the warm, waiting skin...

Kiku finds himself right where he was at the beginning- but this time is unable to restrain himself from thinking the forbidden thought.

What kind of bra...

Right away, he decides to himself that black is too plain and black lace too predictable for someone as interesting as he finds her.

Hmm...

The blue dress that she oft wears pops into his mind... perhaps her favorite? If blue was her favorite color, then maybe it was blue lace. He could see her in a blue bra with cream lace and matching panties that begged to be tugged roughly down narrow hips. Hips... She wore dresses so often that he was actually sure that he'd never seen the shape of her hips or thighs... He feels himself go a little cold at the mental thought of kissing up her thighs, or kissing down them- either direction, he was sure it was euphoric...

He licks his lips and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

If not blue, then maybe she was wearing something for him, something that made her think of him the same way he was thinking of her.

_I'm wearing brown... to match your eyes._

Or maybe red to match his flag...

Kiku swallows hard as his imagination tells him just what he'd do if she approached him in red-and-cream silk and lace.

The feeling of her body too freshly imprinted into his own, Kiku doesn't let himself indulge into the rest of the fantasy, content with just looking at her in his mind. He imagines touching the clasps of her bra but doesn't unhook it, opening his eyes in a daze.

He scratches the ghost breast imprint and lets out a quiet sigh, noting with wry amusement that he's let his imagination wander a bit too much- at the very least, enough so that his body loudly lets him know that he shouldn't think in such detail. He rubs his temples lightly and tries not to think about the striring deep in his gut, instead glancing back at the papers on the table.

He remembers the irrelevant fact that Natalya had lent him the pen he was using to sign papers and finish up business and groans as the imagery comes unbidden, her nails painted a glossy navy blue that complemented her dress perfectly.

That same navy blue nail-polished thumb brushing his lips possessively as she pulls him on top of her, one of those nails in his mouth, those nails scratching his back, those nails and that hand resting against his futon in gentle sleep after...

Kiku puts down the pen and leaves his office, and deliberately closes and locks the bathroom door behind him.

Just in case.


End file.
